


Blood and Soap

by Ever_Lasting



Category: Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Batman v Superman spoilers, M/M, Post - Batmn v Superman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6520363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ever_Lasting/pseuds/Ever_Lasting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whenever the chance presented itself they were meeting. Not innocently. To be frank, Clark would find his way to where Bruce was and then fuck his brains out. There was no context to these trysts. They didn't acknowledge anything. Didn't talk about it. They just did it and went on with their separate lives. That's how Bruce liked to do things and this arrangement was on his terms. Clark was invested more in this than he'd like to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Soap

**Author's Note:**

> I'm more familiar with Marvel comicbook cannon than I am with DC so there's definitely going to be some continuity mistakes. I'm always willing to learn, however, so correct me on the more egregious mistakes. Feedback on my writing would be nice. I haven't set down to write anything out in a long time.

Rest was a commodity. Clark had never had it easy considering the whole double identity thing but with the Justice league in its beginning stages, it went further downhill. They were a team -- basically a team. They were all sorting each other's shit out and a fight with one was a fight with all. Gave Clark that warm fuzzy friendly feeling never mind it being hell. 

He'd visited Lois before returning . She missed him and he missed her in a way. She was his confidant and the rock which he could anchor himself to. Gave the best advice just short of what his mom could offer. But there was a strain between them. Ever since he had "died" it was different. Like she had severed that tie between them and couldn't grab it back when he was "resurrected ". 

That left him without a place to stay but Bruce's money had been put to good use while he was gone. The Hall of Justice -- it couldn't have a cornier name really and Clarke would bet that it was some kind of inside joke -- was kind of a home away from home. At any given time at least one of them could be found there. Tonight it was Clark....for a while it might be Clark.

It's not that he couldn't buy a new apartment or something. It was just -- he didn't know. Maybe he was still holding out for that cozy little brick studio in Metropolis. Like things between them would be the same one day.

It weighed heavy on his mind as he lie in bed. Eyes wide open behind closed lids. The one chance he got to get some sleep and the sandman left him hanging. Sometimes he'd let the sounds that he would otherwise tune out drift into his psyche. Crickets , owls, what was probably the scuttle of rats and....a groaning.

His blue eyes drifted open. Bruce was home. With the Hall being so close to Gotham, Batman could simultaneously clean shop and protect the world. He'd probably gotten back from a night out fighting crime ....or whatever it was Batman did. At any rate it was 3:00 am. 

Clear from another floor Clark could hear him doing...something. Sounded like he was having a bit of a struggle. He thought to get up and go check on him but the Batman didn't need a babysitter. Besides, things were weird between them too.

Whenever the chance presented itself they were meeting. Not innocently. To be frank, Clark would find his way to where Bruce was and then fuck his brains out. There was no context to these trysts. They didn't acknowledge anything. Didn't talk about it. They just did it and went on with their separate lives. That's how Bruce liked to do things and this arrangement was on his terms. Clark was invested more in this than he'd like to admit.

The Batman ...Bruce Wayne...a mystery. As alluring as he was sensual. When they were together Clark smelled blood on him. Blood and soap. Oddly clean. The scent flooded his nostrils every time he fucked Bruce and came back to him when he touched himself. Even just thinking of it now he felt his cock begin to harden. 

He fought with himself, weighing whether to stay or to go. But that was really just for show. If it was a dilemma, their little affair, Clark could convince himself he didn't love it as much as he secretly knew he did. But always, and tonight was no different, he crept from bed, feet hovering just above the floorboards looking to quench the lustful thirst inside him. 

He hesitated at Bruce's door. Vision slipped between the molecules and hungrily drunk his form in. He was trying to stitch a wound on his back. He couldn't quite reach and was frankly making a bloody mess of himself. Broad shoulders were bruised, ribs, arms -- there wasn't an inch of him that hadn't sustained some sort of damage. Every move looked painful. He winced each time he tried to maneuver his position to better get at the gash just beneath his shoulder blade. 

Clark would've dropped trou right there and pulled one off but it'd be rude to let batty suffer. He knocked and received a growl and muffled what in response. Supes let himself in, patronizing pity in his eyes much to Bruce's chagrin.

" Here, Bruce," he said gently ," Let me help."

"No...I'm fine." 

Typical. Before Bruce could even move to stop him Clark was by his side. Super speed made dealing with difficult people much easier. Bruce was in no mood to contend with his bullshit, so he complied, bracing himself on the dresser he'd been standing in front of. He grunted in pain, the curved needle threading through his skin effortlessly in Clark's deft hand. 

" The hell happened to you?", he asked, not expecting much. 

"Dog..."

A dark brow arched over his sky blue eye. Who have thought a dog may have been Batman's biggest weakness? 

" It was a big dog...."

"Sure.", Clark chuckled, teasing, all good natured .

It was quiet between them for a moment. The most peculiar thought came to Superman's mind. In that moment he wished Bruce would slow down. The world's greatest detective always moved at 100 mph and always alone like the shadow of a lone wolf. It was taking a toll. Clarke could see it -- feel it.

The shadow of a day sans shaving loomed on his jaw. Bags of bruised purple bloomed underneath his bloodshot eyes. What was this guy even running on? How was he still alive? And merely human....at least Clark thought. The verdict was still out on Bruce Wayne. 

He finished up then, using the little scissors included in the kit to trim the extra thread. Bruce straightened up, tense, back rigid straight. Even still, Bruce was beautiful in a way. The reporter couldn't help but note the ripple of muscle beneath his skin as he flexed, working out the kinks, adjusting to the tightness of a newly stitched wound. Clark was half hard beneath his sweat pants and Bruce was far too observant of a guy not to notice. 

He turned around, moving close. There was that smell again: blood and soap. Heat rose to Clark's cheeks. He had a testing look in his eye and their proximity had Clark yearning for a kiss. But Bruce moved away of course, ever the one to tease.

" Thanks, Clark." He said, revealing the secret that he was in reality a pretty pleasant person, " Why don't you go get some rest?"

" You should take your own advice, Bruce. You're only human..."

There was the inflection of concern in his voice. Clark Kent was a genuine guy, that's just how he was, and he had genuine worry for his friend....for his lover. He knew it fell on deaf ears most of the time, though.

Bruce had crossed the room, sitting on the edge of his bed. Looked like it hadn't been slept in in weeks. He croaked a wry laugh, still shirtless , still looking like he'd been in the movie Fight Club.

" I can't afford to be human."

He had a joking tone, deflected what Clark had said, brushed it off with demur charm. But That was a profound thing to say. A lot of the time it occurred to Clark that it seemed like Bruce was the alien, not he or Diana. Though he was just a man he had this superhuman dexterity and a mind of steel. No one knew what was behind those metal grey eyes regardless of whether or not they wanted to know. 

Sure he was fucking Bruce , but Clark was acutely aware of how the millionaire was manipulating the situation. Always kept him in the dark -- 10 steps behind. Even when they were as close as close can be. When Bruce's strong arms clutched at Clark's shoulders during those nights they spent together -- he couldn’t have been farther away. But Bruce sucked in everyone he held in his favor, anyone who could get just close enough to start deciphering the firewall around his heart wanted to solve the puzzle once and for all. Clark was no different and he wished he could discern Bruce's vendetta with the world. Superman very badly wanted to offer comfort that he didn't know how to even when to give. 

" Well, you might consider -- " , Clark tried to say.

" Advice wasn't what I need from you, Kent.", Bruce stopped that train of thought.

And That was the end of that. Clark would've been taken aback if he wasn't used to it. 

" And what do you need, Bruce?" 

The tension between them ignited then and there. Their eyes connected. Clark knew what he wanted, knew the only thing Bruce was willing to take from him.

Bruce rose from the bed and gracefully crossed the room back to his ally. He had a crooked smirk -- feline In attribution ,wolffish in intent. Smoothly, he took Clark's hand and guided it to cup the bulge of his hard cock, the length straining against the material of his slacks. 

" We both know you didn't come down here to check on me. " he whispered, " We both know you didn't come to have a heart to heart." 

Just his voice brought Clark to erection. He unknowingly tapped into that super speed in his haste, spinning Bruce around, bidding them both face the mirror on the dresser. Clark pinned both hands behind the Bat's back effortlessly. Bruce struggled, it was always in his nature to fight , no matter how futile. 

" Look at you....you're a mess." Clark purred.

His other hand slithered down the front of Bruce's pants and he took firm hold of his cock, squeezing just so. The Gothamite shivered, leaning back into Clark, trying his very best to rock his hips into that hand. Clark could feel the twitch of his cock, pre cum leaking down onto his hand. He caught a bit of it on his fingers, drawing them up and down the slicked up shaft. Bruce grunted, gaze never faltering, their eyes connecting via the beautiful sight reflected in the mirror.

His stomach was gorgeous. Lean, scarred, a sheen of sweat glazing his abs. Bruce writhed under Clark's machinations, bucking up into the steady motion of his hand. Clark relinquished the hold on Bruce's hand to undo his pants. They dropped to the floor to pool about his ankles and there he was, as if on display . But Clark would be the only one to behold this attraction. 

" You can't fall asleep? I'll have to put you to bed." , Clark hissed into his ear, nibbling on the lobe. 

Bruce growled huskily, " Don't count on it."

He whirled around and dealt Clark a brutal kiss. Their tongues danced. Bruce's mouth was cold. He tasted like blood too. Clark felt the strong pull of Bruce's arms around him and the press of his cock up against his thigh. Clark moaned, just melting into him. Somewhere along the way they ended up on the floor. 

The tear of fabric pierced the room. He supposed Bruce was far too impatient to spare Clark's shirt. That was more of an afterthought because then Bruce's mouth descended upon his exposed chest. They rutted against one another, Bruce licking and kissing and biting his way lower and lower and lower. But before he could get to the fun part, Clark upended the situation.

With an Oof! Bruce was pushed on to his back. In all their fervor there was a pause. Time seemed to slow and they just looked at each other, panting still. Bruce was searching the blue pools of Clark's eyes. What was he looking for? What was he hoping was reflected in them? The reporter's brow furrowed and , intertwined with the lust, was a yearning. It welled up within him. In a moment of tenderness uncharacteristic of these session, Clark stroked Bruce's face, tracing his jaw with the knuckle of his index finger. He kissed him soft, tentatively, wondering what response this would illicit.

Clark pulled back and saw what might've been hate in Bruce's eyes. And he probably did hate him in that way he kind of hated everyone. Bruce was frustrated and let out a sound as close to a needy whimper as Bruce Wayne could get. He didn't have the wherewithal for sentiment. 

" Fuck me. " Bruce commanded.

Clark needn't be told twice. He shimmied out of his own pants, Bruce spreading his legs welcoming the Kryptonian between his thighs. The only sort of prep they ever needed was a bit of spit spread about Clark's dick and Bruce's hole. He pushed in, all the way to the hilt of his cock. 

Bruce grunted in pain but somewhere in that was pleasure as well. Clark never hurt, couldn't be hurt, not by Bruce , not in this way. And it seemed to him Bruce liked something about that. He was always rough. He could be as brutal as he pleased with an unbreakable man. 

Even now , as Clark fucked into him, Bruce tore at his hair, grabbing and holding onto him. And he felt so good. Their bodies molded together. Supporting their weight with one hand, Clark pulled Bruce close with the other. His cock thrust into him, hard and deep, strokes slow . He savored this. Bruce let himself come undone in superman's embrace, giving himself over to the passion, to the pain, to the pleasure. 

" Fuck..." He sobbed, " Wait...."

And on command Clark stopped, dick twitching impatiently as it was still sheathed inside him. Bruce crawled out from beneath him, turning over onto his stomach. 

" Like this."

He got whatever he wanted. Clark held Bruce fast, an arm over his chest, lining up his dick with the other man's puckered hole. This time sliding in was almost as good as the last. Bruce had propped himself up on his elbows, one hand holding onto Clark's arm for dear life as he was plowed into the floor. 

It was a struggle, Clark knowing full well he could break this man in his fervor. Their moans mingled together, each one music to Clark's ears. Superman nuzzled into the dark hair that reached just past the nape of Bruce's neck. That smell, his scent, bringing him to new levels of arousal. He kissed along his neck, leaving hickeys along with the bruises and scratches already there.

Bruce had maneuvered a bit to slip a hand between himself and the floor, jerking himself in tandem with Clark's thrusts. His hips smacked against Bruce's ass and a pointed growl came when Clark glanced a stern slap across the firm cheeks. It was ecstasy and all at once it was over.

Clark tensed as he came, still rocking into Bruce well after his dick started to soften. In turn, Bruce came into his hand, back arched, nails pressed into Clark's arm as he stifled a loud moan. 

Then they just lay there, covered in sweat and cum, trying to piece back together what had come undone. Clark only stirred as Bruce nudged back against him, giving him the hint to get off. He complied and Bruce got to his feet on shaky legs. It seems all he could manage to do was stumble over to his bed and crawl in.

Clark was left with an empty feeling, sitting there naked on the floor. That's how this sort of thing always ended. He felt like they shared something real and , as soon as it was done, it was a final thing. Bruce carried on with his business and Clark was expected to do the same. It was getting harder and harder for him to reconcile his feelings with this cycle but what could he do? He loved being inside a Bruce too much. Loved too much how his breath quickened when Clark kissed his neck. Loved too much the sound of their bodies moving together. So he was resigned to not making a sensation of everything for the sake of his guilty pleasure. 

Eventually, Clark got himself together, slipping back into his sweatpants, abandoning the scraps of his shirt. Soundlessly he padded to the door but then...

"Clark...."

He stopped at the sound of his name and looked back. It didn't sound like Bruce Wayne but grey eyes were the only ones that peered at him when Clark looked back. There was that same searching look laced with a vulnerability that seemed untrue. And Bruce's mouth looked about to form words but he couldn't find them and instead just pressed his lips into a dismayed line.   
5Bruce looked away in resignation, forfeiting whatever inner war he was waging. 

But Clark knew and he didn't need words. Bruce's eyes beckoned him silently. Of course he obliged, changing course to move to the bed. Bruce looked back up to watch him, something more akin to gratitude on his face when the other justice league member joined him under the covers.

This was uncharted water. Usually, after they recovered from their blissed out state, someone would make a quick get away -- usually Bruce. But this was -- it was nice above all -- but maybe also cause for concern. What attachment was already there on Clark's part only doubled as Bruce looked at him. It wasn't that he scorned this sort of emotion, even if he had essentially lost Lois. It was just....of all people why Bruce Wayne? Clark knew full well rejection could be around the corner but he didn't care, not really.

It kinda of felt like one of those " let's take a round of five shots even though there's work in the morning" kind of decisions. One of those that he might come to regret but that he dove headlong into at this moment.

Clark gave Bruce a reassuring smile, one that said you can trust me. Bruce sighed, perhaps contentedly and laid with his back to Clark's chest. Superman pressed up close to him, careful not to cause Bruce any harm. For a while as they lay there, wakefulness waning, Clark smoothed a hand over no doubt sore muscle. Mapping out the landscape of scars and wounds both old and new. 

And that smell wafted from his hair. Metallic like rust yet also sweet -- blood. And a cool scent, like the fragrances carried on the breezes of spring -- soap. They lulled him into a deep slumber.

When Clarke woke the next morning Bruce was gone. Diana had knocked at the door, waking him up. Jealousy flooded his stomach. Maybe something was going on with them. At any rate, he didn't answer the door. And eventually she went away. 

When he saw Bruce again three days later, they didn't even make eye contact. They were talking business, the league . He could rationalize there wasn't time to make googly eyes at each other but still....just a glance or a smile something that wouldn't make that night feel like some kind of dream. 

Clark knew he wouldn't get any of those things, though...because he was in love with the Batman.


End file.
